Poppy and Ereth

by Avi

  “Thirty miles!” cried Dogbane. “How long is this walk going to take?”

  “Twelve minutes,” said Spruce.

  Dogbane considered. “How many minutes have we been going?”

  “Six.”

  “Come on,” said Dogbane. “Admit it, you just make up this stuff. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Do,” said Spruce.

  “And is this really, really the way to the creek?”

  “Don’t believe me if you don’t want to.”

  “And you’re sure Grandma Poppy is at the creek?”

  “That’s where Uncle Ereth saw her.”

  Dogbane sighed. “Fine. Let’s keep moving.”

  The two mice continued along the path. Ten minutes later Dogbane halted. “How close to the creek are we now?”

  Spruce studied the path. A little hill rose up before them. “See that hill?” he said. “From the top you’ll be able to see the creek.”

  “Fine.”

  They went on and soon reached the top of the hill. Instead of seeing Glitter Creek, they arrived at a fork in the path.

  “You said Glitter Creek would be here,” said Dogbane.

  “I said,” insisted Spruce, “we’d see the path that led to the creek.”

  “You did not.”

  “Did!”

  “Fine! Which path do we take?”

  Spruce considered. There was nothing to distinguish one path from the other. He turned and stole a glance back over the way they had come, and wondered if, after all, it might be better to go home.

  “Know what?” said Dogbane. “You really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I do, too.”

  “This is just stupid,” said Dogbane. “Grandma is fine. Mice can’t fly. I’m going home.”

  “I don’t scare so easy,” said Spruce, and he walked ahead, taking the path that led to the right.

  Dogbane watched him go. “Runt!” he shouted, then spun around and began to run toward home.

  Spruce kept going. But after a few moments, he stopped and glanced around. “Dogbane!” he cried. “I’m going!”

  No reply came. Uneasy, Spruce reminded himself what Grandma Poppy had told him: “A mouse has to do what a mouse has to do.” According to Grandma, a mouse named Ragweed said that. Since Spruce’s father was also named Ragweed he supposed his father would say the same thing. Well, so should he.

  Spruce gazed down the path he had chosen to get to the creek: he would do it alone.

  As Spruce walked on, he thought: A mouse has to do…But it would be a lot easier to find Grandma if I knew where she landed.

  CHAPTER 19

  Poppy and the Bats

  DEEP WITHIN THE BAT CAVE, Poppy gazed about at the bats that surrounded her. Bent over, wings folded up to their ears, they returned her scrutiny with solemn silence. If there was a smile on any bat face, Poppy did not see it.

  There was some nervous shuffling among the bats, but not a word was spoken. Then one bat crawled forward. His large leathery wings were hunched up to his pointy ears, and he waddled with slow, forceful, jerky movements. There was gray about his snout, his flaring nostrils were hairy, and his black eyes were surrounded with wrinkles. Poppy felt inclined to retreat, but she had no place to go.

  “Miss Poppy,” said the bat, speaking slowly in a high, cracking voice. “I am called Oldwing by my family. On their behalf I extend a welcome.

  “Being the oldest bat in this community,” he continued, “I have the privilege to receive you in our domain. Our inquisitiveness is equaled only by our timidity. It’s unusual for us to receive visitors. Indeed, we have never seen the likes of you here before. You say you are a deer mouse.”

  Poppy nodded. “I am, though Luci thought I was a moth.”

  Her remark brought a few broad, toothy grins, some nodding, and a few squeaks that sounded like giggles.

  “Though it was a mistake,” said Poppy, relaxing a bit, “my visit has been quite wonderful. It’s not often I have such new experiences. Your cave is…very beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” returned Oldwing with a slight folding and unfolding of his wings.

  “But why don’t you have visitors?” asked Poppy. “I’m sure others would like to see your home.”

  “Few know how to enter this cave,” said Oldwing.

  “You mean you have to fly in.”

  “There is another way,” said Oldwing. “But we prefer to keep it secret. No, there’s a more important reason we have few visitors.”

  Oldwing closed his eyes. “Miss Poppy,” the bat said, speaking with care as he opened his eyes, “the truth is, we bats are not considered good company. Many think we are full of disease. That we are aggressive. Dangerous. Ugly. Blind as a bat, as others say. Some go so far as to consider us evil. None of these things are true. Even so, bats are feared and, being feared, scorned.”

  Poppy, recalling her earlier thoughts about bats, felt embarrassed.

  “Miss Poppy,” Oldwing continued, “the truth is, we are a close-knit family who offer no harm to anybody. When you return to your home, you will do us a great kindness if you educate your family and friends as to the truth about us.”

  “I certainly will,” said Poppy, cheered by the idea that it was understood she would be going home.

  “On behalf of my family, I thank you,” said Oldwing, nodding. “I hope you will call on us if we can ever be of assistance. For now, please stay as long as you desire.”

  “That’s very kind,” said Poppy. “But I’ve been gone from my family a long time. They’re probably worried. Besides, Luci tells me you don’t have the kind of food I eat.”

  “What food is that?” asked Oldwing.

  “Seeds, mostly,” said Poppy.

  “Alas,” said the bat, “Luci is correct. But please, do come again. Bring your family. We have plenty of room. For now, Luci can take you home.”

  “Thank you,” said Poppy. “You’ve been so pleasant. This is a strange and wonderful world. Being old, I’m glad to have seen it at my age.”

  Oldwing nodded. “Being old brings wisdom, but not always the strength to use it.”

  “Well,” said Poppy, “I suppose we can still try, can’t we?”

  “Indeed,” said Oldwing, “as my great-great-grandfather Longwing once said, ‘To try is to be young.’ Perhaps, Miss Poppy, you are not as old as you think. Until next time, farewell.”

  Next moment, there was a great rush and whirl of leathery wings as the bats rose in the air. Though crowded and close, none bumped. As Poppy watched, the bats flew high into the dome of the cave and then attached themselves to the wall in a great, crowded mass.

  “Oh my,” said a voice behind Poppy, “isn’t Oldwing sweet? We all love him to bits.”

  Poppy turned. Luci had remained. “He was kind,” said Poppy. “Luci, can I really go home now?”

  “Sure,” said Luci. “My ma said I could take you this evening.”

  “Is there any way I could go now, on my own?”

  “Well,” Luci whispered. “You heard what Oldwing said. We have another way. But you’d have to”—she grimaced—“crawl.”

  “Please, Luci,” Poppy pleaded. “I truly need to get home. I’m used to crawling, and it’s very cold in here for me. Besides, I’m really hungry. I haven’t eaten for a whole day.”

  “Do you promise not to tell?”

  “Of course,” said Poppy.

  “I’d have to fly you a little bit.”

  “That’s fine,” Poppy coaxed.

  “I suppose it is my fault you’re here,” said Luci.

  “Luci, I truly enjoyed myself,” Poppy replied.

  Luci grinned. “Let’s do it.”

  Poppy lay down to make it easier for Luci to pick her up. Soon they were flying through the cave, following a series of sharp twists and turns until Luci set Poppy into a corner in front of what appeared, in the murky gloom, to be a tunnel.

  “There it is,” Luci whispered.
“The way Oldwing mentioned. I never used it myself. They say you just go right on through. From the other end you should be able to find your way out to the forest.”

  “Thank you,” said Poppy, eyeing the tunnel entryway with dismay. Its darkness was not inviting.

  “Miss Poppy,” said Lucy, “I’m still mortified I thought you were a moth.”

  “Never mind,” said Poppy. “It’s been a good change for an old mouse.”

  “Miss Poppy, you don’t act old,” said Luci. “And I’d really like to see you again. Just give a call at twilight when we’re out flying. The higher your voice, the more likely I’ll hear. See you later, moth-mouse!” she cried, and with a flutter of her leathery wings, Luci took off.

  “Good-bye!” Poppy called after her. For a few moments, she watched as the young bat disappeared into the gloomy, dim recesses of the cave.

  Alone, Poppy turned and faced the tunnel. Its entry was round, its floor strewn with countless stones, large and small, and it was much darker than she would have wished. She reminded herself that she really wanted to get home, wanted to see the sun, wanted to eat.

  “Oh well,” said Poppy, “sometimes an old mouse still has to do what a young mouse has to do,” and she stepped into the tunnel.

  CHAPTER 20

  Poppy in the Tunnel

  THE FARTHER POPPY WENT into the tunnel, the darker it became. Once, twice, she looked back over her shoulder. When she looked a third time, the entryway was no longer visible, no lighter than when Poppy had first entered the bat cave. Though this made her hesitate, she reminded herself that it was the best way to get home, and she continued on, feeling her way through the darkness with her front paws.

  As Poppy crept forward, she pitched her ears ahead and wiggled her nose to catch any sound or smell that might alert her to trouble. At first there was nothing to alarm her. Then she heard a tiny sound.

  Stopping immediately, Poppy became extra alert. She listened, sniffed, and stared into the darkness. The sound repeated itself, but so tantalizingly brief and faint, it was impossible to identify. She inched forward. Within moments the noise came again, and this time Poppy knew she had detected the steady breathing of a sleeping animal.

  Though apprehensive, she continued to creep forward, paused, and stuck up her nose. A gentle flow of air suggested that the end of the tunnel was not too far. But mingled in that same breeze between her and the outside was the scent of an animal.

  Wondering if it would be best to retreat and ask Luci to fly her home, Poppy peered back into the darkness. She reminded herself that there was no certainty she’d be able to find her young friend. Besides, she was very hungry and there was no food in the cave. Maybe, she thought, the animal ahead is no one I need worry about.

  She would have to see for herself.

  Taking a deep breath, Poppy continued forward with extreme caution. Every few steps she paused to look, listen, and smell.

  When a faint light bloomed ahead, Poppy halted. The cave entrance must be really close. Just the thought gave her new energy. Though she wanted to race forward and dance in the sunlight, she held back. The breathing sound was still there. Be cautious! all her instincts insisted. Be very cautious.

  She went on. Her whiskers soon detected a stronger flow of warm air coming in her direction, and the breathing sound grew even louder. She was getting closer.

  Poppy sat up on her hind legs, lifted her nose, and took a deep breath. She had no doubt: it was the scent of a large animal. But what kind of animal? Friendly? Unfriendly? Indifferent to mice or not? Impossible to tell. Another sniff. The scent was oddly familiar, teasingly vague. But who was it? She could not place it.

  She continued to creep forward. The farther she went, the more the light grew until she no longer had to feel her way. She could see.

  Poppy approached a sharp bend in the tunnel. Though she would have liked to bolt forward, she took a careful peek around the corner. After so much darkness, the glare of the bright sunlight blinded her momentarily. Blinking, she drew back, rubbed her eyes with her paws, and took another look. Once Poppy adjusted to the brightness, she could see the entryway as well as bushes beyond. And just inside the entryway lay a large animal curled up in a ball.

  To her disgust and horror, she also saw the scattered remains of bones, remnants of small creatures—like herself—that this monster presumably had eaten.

  As Poppy scrutinized the animal, its ears—long and pointy—perked up and twitched. Then the creature rearranged itself, shifted about, and briefly waved a long, bushy red tail. Its claws extended, then retracted. With its eyes closed, the animal lifted its head, revealing a long, delicately pointed nose replete with black whiskers. Finally, it gave a wide yawn, showing many sharp teeth, then lowered its head and curled up into a ball again.

  By then Poppy knew exactly who it was: Bounder the fox.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Fire

  THE BRANCH on the Bannock Hill hazelnut tree continued to burn, the flame moving steadily until it reached the dry trunk of the tree. Fed by more fuel, the fire burned brighter and hotter. It burned up, and it burned down. As it burned, a thin ribbon of dark smoke rose into the sky.

  The fire soon reached the ground, setting aflame the brittle dry grasses and dead leaves that lay close by.

  Before long, the entire crown of Bannock Hill was smoldering, creating a dark cloud of smoke and making the air even hazier than it already had been.

  When a gentle burst of wind touched the hilltop, the whole summit exploded into flames. As the fire’s intensity increased, it began to spread down the hill in the direction of Tar Road and the wooden bridge over Glitter Creek.

  Beyond the creek lay Dimwood Forest.

  CHAPTER 22

  Ereth Looks at Himself

  ERETH CROUCHED in the deepest, darkest part of his hollow log. Now and again he gnawed noisily on an old, dry twig. Finding it tasteless, he stopped often only to start again when he could think of nothing else to do.

  “I suppose it has to be me who plans Poppy’s funeral,” he grumbled. “Nobody else offered. Nobody else could. How typical. They leave everything to me. What would Dimwood Forest be without me? Trees!”

  The porcupine closed his eyes, shifted his prickly bulk, and twitched his tail until his quills rattled.

  “What’s important,” he declared, “is that it be a dignified funeral. All about Poppy. So everyone will learn what a wonderful creature she was. Nobody like her in the whole forest. No one. Not even…me.”

  He closed his eyes and tried to remember how—it seemed so long ago—he had first met Poppy. Ah, yes! It was a fox, named Bounder, who had chased her into his log. “Funny how that happened,” Ereth mused. “Silly mouse! Poppy thought I was going to eat her. As if I’d eat meat. Yuck! Meat is disgusting.”

  Then Ereth thought about all the things he should have said to Poppy when she was alive. “There never was any time,” he whispered. “How could I say the things I should have said if she didn’t let me say them? She was always so busy. I never expected she would just fly off the way she did. Not bothering to say good-bye. Just…poof! Gone! Not very polite.”

  The more Ereth thought about Poppy, the more agitated he became until, unable to stay still, he heaved himself up and waddled out of his log. “I mustn’t think about her anymore,” he said. “It’s making me crazy. Anyway, it’s about time I started to think of myself.”

  Even so, he was unable to keep himself from trudging up to Poppy’s snag, staring at it bleakly, shaking his head in dismay, and then turning to lumber into the woods.

  As Ereth went along, he grumbled about his aching muscles, bad food, the lack of salt, and the air, which was hot, thick as glue and just as sticky. He felt heavy, and itchy.

  Surely this was the hottest day of all, so hot even the forest insects were silent. He was convinced that he was the sole creature moving, for the only sounds he heard were his own footsteps on the parched grass. The sound—scratchy and crunchy�
�irritated him.

  “With Poppy gone, nothing is good!” he muttered. “If I could, I’d march right out of the world. But where would I go?”

  Ereth continued on, grumbling and grunting, not caring where he was going, knowing only that he was heading into the deep woods, away from his home, away from everyone.

  He reached a place where the trees grew so close even the air seemed to be made of shadows. He looked about. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred. “I’m all alone,” he whispered. “Utterly alone.”

  As he gazed forlornly about, he noticed a large boulder sticking out of the ground. One side of it glistened, sparkled almost. Curious, Ereth drew nearer and saw that embedded in the large stone was a piece of bright mica. He started to turn, only to catch a glimpse of his reflection there.

  Ereth rarely looked at himself. It happened occasionally when he had to bend down to take a drink from a pond or stream. In those moments, he did not like what he saw and quickly shut his eyes.

  This time he stared hard at the image of his face as if searching for something. “You,” he said, “are not handsome. You are prickly! Ugly! Grumpy! Not friendly!”

  He gulped down a rasping breath and then suddenly bellowed, “Erethizon Dorsatum, you are a self-centered and conceited porcupine! You should be ashamed of yourself, feeling angry because of Poppy. Think how she feels being dead!” Tears trickled down his blunt face.

  He shifted his head in various directions, all but crossing his eyes to see himself. Then he moved his body around, trying to get a glimpse of his whole self. Finally, he pressed his nose flat against the mica, so that his eyes stared into their own reflection. “You,” he said, as if addressing a stranger, “are a porcupine. An old porcupine. A very old porcupine. An antique porcupine. A prehistoric porcupine! A fossil porcupine. But what,” he asked the image, “have you done with your long life?”

  When no answer came from the stone, he supplied it himself. “Not much,” he said.